


Cutting It Close

by SkyHighDisco



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Family, Friendship, Funny, Gen, Hala Madrid, Humor, Luka is a snitch, Platonic Relationships, Pranks, Real Madrid CF, To haircut or not to haircut that is the question, grumpy!Gareth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyHighDisco/pseuds/SkyHighDisco
Summary: ˮYou need to cut your hair maybe" – Luka Modrić,Goals Recreated ft. Real Madrid players; Bale, Nacho, Kovačić, Modrić





	Cutting It Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esparafuso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esparafuso/gifts).



> Was listening to Michael Jackson's _''Love Never Felt So Good''_ while accidentally digging through some gifs of Gareth and Luka at the same time and this happened, and while I only do platonic relationships, the moment those two mixed together that jam became a Bale &Modrić anthem
> 
> And since I'm a mood lifter, I'm dedicating this to one person who probably stans these two dummies the most. <3

While he didn't know when the fixation had manifested itself back to life, Gareth Frank Bale could safely predict just _when_ Luka's particular and rather creepy obsession started. He remembered clear as day back while Kovačić was here as well, and when his Spanish had been the lamest in the history of incapability to make a simple order in the cafe. Honestly, how can you blame a UK man with a UK accent in Spain?

But there was that one sentence that stuck around the firmest and Gaz shuddered at its blunt, but simultaneously suspiciously promptive core.

_You need to cut your hair, maybe._

The ball he'd been juggling just fine by now had been miscalculated a hit and the impulsive jerk in his left foot had catapulted it straight for his nose. He staggered back like a humiliated amateur idiot, holding his nose and among squeezed-shut eyes and low cusses prayed that no one had witnessed this. Someone had taught him the nose and Adam's apple were the two most lethal spots one can suffer a hit at. Nothing about a scrotum anywhere.

„Woah, you alright, bro?"

But, yes, who was God to grant _him_ prayers?

He opened one eye and spotted Kroos standing there with a wandered away ball under his boot, watching his teammate with open concern and mild anxiety, which was weird because Toni never showed much emotion. He was German. Good. There was another non-Spaniard whom he would rather prefer not to see.

„Fine", he said briskly, rubbing his nose a little just in case. Any footballer was well familiar with a ball being a guest to his face, and there were far more deadly things that could do a lot more damage than a ball, but biology indicated nose is particularly fragile and therefore should be treated as such. ˮWhere are the others?"

„Coming." The German paused. ˮYou sure it's nothing?"

He wasn't referring to his nose and Gareth knew that. ˮOn Wales."

That was good enough for Toni. He nodded, greeting Varane who ran out onto the training ground first on his long legs. Still bent over, hands propping his knees, Bale was collecting the D-vitamin of the morning sun and finally minding his own business when his ears caught the familiar voice and even more familiar thick accent. He looked over his shoulder, wary blue eyes blazing in alarm and saw Modrić exiting the compound while explaining something to Sergio in a vigorous Spanish, and on Ramos' other side, Marcelo listened as well, wide-eyed.

A pang of unexplainable jealousy surged through his veins, nerves and lymph nodes and everything that led from his brain to the rest of his body. It wasn't hot like envy, but cold, because while he knew he could easily join them and find out what could be so important, things were set in motion that couldn't be undone. And one split nanosecond of Luka's eyes catching his own was enough to prove it. He tripped in his agile monologue and made a pause long enough for Gareth to confirm what he meant, but while he was jogging away to join Toni and Raphaël, Bale could already hear him regain composure and ramble on like nothing had happened.

It all started with that dumb birthday present. Gaz should've known something was off the moment Luka handed it over with words ˮAnd don't take it personallyˮ. He supposed he had outright completely ignored the statement when he opened the box. Everybody laughed but him, so he guessed he _did_ take it personally, but if there was somebody who is gonna mess with Gareth Bale on a level _that_ personal isn't even worth an explanation. Did he exaggerate a bit? Probably, but this was his dignity on stake, and he'd like to keep it that way.

Well if Luka only tries anything, Bale will kick his short ass all the way to Senegal.

His thoughts were interrupted when Dani decided it would be funny to jump on him and demand a piggyback ride to the center of the field.

  
  


„You're avoiding me."

Bale sniffed like an aristocrat who had a dirty peasant in his five-meter proximity. ˮYou've always been a great detective."

Luka sat on the grass beside him and reached for his toes. His calves tightened like they didn't look powerful enough already, and he could rival Ronaldo by only standing next to him with these bulging fuckers. ˮWhy? Did I do something? Did I say something? Did you accidentally send me a picture that I wasn't supposed to see, even as I have no clear memory of what it could be even if you did?"

Well, that escalated quickly.

„Neither of it", Gareth said and propped himself with his hands to put a little bit more distance between them. ˮIt's nothing."

„Well, if it's nothing, how come you refused to be near me for the past few days and you're watching me like I'm a runaway pedophile whose illegal party only you were a witness of?"

Gareth scrunched up his face in disgust. ˮStop that!"

Unimpressed, the Croatian arched an eyebrow. ˮWell?"

Gareth considered telling him to sod off, but Luka was still a good friend who was the only reason why his first date with Real Madrid ever happened. He was the one who helped him turn his baby steps in Spanish to real, man-like strides, and Gareth owed him a debt he could never hope to repay. That thought made the train pause, but then its smokebox just exploded. ˮ _Scissors_ , Luka? Seriously? I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable one in this team. But, scissors?"

Luka blinked, finally caught off guard, wrinkling his nose a little in the mimic the Welshman learned to recognize was something between confusion and consideration. ˮYou're upset because of my birthday present?"

„No, I'm upset because every time we're in the communal bathrooms, you start snipping your scissors, threatening in Spanish you know I don't understand and looking at me like you don't just plan cutting what the scissors are meant to cut."

„Oh", Modrić gave a little laugh of disbelief, but when Gareth's face remained serious, the smile was gone and he gave a little start and leaned away a tad, blinking again. ˮWait, you think I'm serious about it?"

„Well, I've been reviving some facts of our camaraderie days over the last few years we are in Real Madrid, would you like to know my conclusion?"

Bale went from having his head bowed with eyes closed and two fingers to his temple like Confucius' loyal follower in pursuit of truth to looking over at his former Tottenham colleague zero-to-hundred-real-quick, leaving Luka to splutter and stumble over his useless tongue at the impact of those powerful eyes.

„You have a problem with my hair", Gareth finished helpfully.

„You reckon?"

„Why else would I constantly be led into situations where you'd deliberately leave the tiniest clues for me to find it true, huh? Why else?" the striker gestured.

Luka shrugged. ˮI liked the old one better. You look like a hippie now."

„Thank you for your honesty."

„A particularly nasty hippie who cannot decide or won't accept that he is a hippie."

„Are you Croats all this flowery on tongue or is it just you?"

„Whatever you like, honey."

„Seriously, shut up."

Gareth decided to focus on Casemiro who was sitting a bit farther and found himself in the middle of the sporadic Brazilian urge to sing; he was humming himself a real original _''Mas Que Nada''_ while using his index fingers as tiny drums and swaying along in his own imagined rhythm. At least someone was having fun. And who else but the Brazilians?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over. Luka's thickly-dark eyes radiated candor only he was capable of enriching anyone whom he looked at with, and Bale felt shivers of discomfort racing down his arms and back at their piercing intimacy. He gulped, but didn't back away when the Croat's gaze didn't falter.

„I promise you", Luka said slowly, like each word needed its own dose of delicate care. ˮI have no sinister intentions whatsoever with you. You have my word. Have I ever lied to you?"

No. Never like this, but...

The striker gulped again, having a difficult time to hold the gaze and look away at the same time. Ever since they met Luka had this something that could hold Gareth firmly to the ground, or make him run thirty kilometers a game, depending on the need. All he had to do was give him this look. It made Bale feel vulnerable as well as protected and a smothered childish part of him insisted it would never leave him, even if he pushed. There was little that could rip apart his stone shields like that, but unsurprisingly, his oldest friend was there to take the helm. That is how Bale knew he was safe.

He nodded. ˮAlright." He patted Luka's back twice to ease the awkwardness among them and looked back to Casemiro who was now stretching with his nose in the grass. ˮI believe you."

The hand left his shoulder and Gareth suddenly felt like an empty pot.

  
  


The night did wonder in Valdebebas. While day made it surge with life — what with players, what with assistants, workers, and trainers, and what with the press who were preying on their training sessions — the night tip-toed over as a calming mother to shush the workers and chase _Los Blancos_ to their beds. The occasions on which the players bragged about who can stay up longer like real teenagers were more infrequent than often. They had exhausting work every day, and for teamwork perfection, it required even more energy and concentration.

So just like that, the night happened to miss two figures prattling shortly in the dark before retreating to their rooms.

Several hours later, everything was calm in Bale's room, indifferent than it was when he first went to bed. He slept on his back, breathing calmly. His windows were closed due to his light sleep and sensitivity to the noise. A dust could've fluttered by and it would've been heard. It was this kind of silence that would've made anyone alone and awake uncomfortable. Gareth didn't care. He was catching himself some well-deserved _z_ -s.

It was a wonder then how he hadn't noticed his door open with a light squeak and keep opening until they nearly hit the wall. The doorframe sketched the outline of a figure that sneaked to the side of the bed without making a sound. It leaned over it. In its hand, it held something metal and shiny.

The figure reached out with one hand and caught the tip of Gareth's man-bun, then neared the tool in its hand closer, sliding the Welshman's hair among two open blades.

On that night, Gareth should've counted himself lucky for being a light sleeper. At the slightest stirring of his alarmed nerves, he inhaled sharply and blinked a couple of times before his tactile senses made him grab the wrist that had his hair. He looked over and gave a slight gasp at the figure.

It wasn't too tall, and its body was dark, but Bale wasn't paying attention to it, anyway. He was looking at the face only half a meter from his own. A horrible abomination of wide, lidless eyes, lipless mouth stretched into a toothy grin and a grey-brown, putrifying skin. His instincts had taken the initiative in that instant.

Bale screamed a high-pitched scream way out of the limits of his throat which was getting torn apart.

_„Kuri! The Kuri! Help! Don't haunt me, please!"_

Everything that had from then onwards left his mouth wouldn't even be comprehensible to Jesus. There was a moment engulfed in Gareth's hysterics, verbal and physical, before a laughter exploded somewhere above him. It was muffled, but still recognizable. Bale would've recognized it if he was dead. While pure fear was melting away to consternation, he realized that the laughter was coming from behind the face and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he caught a glimpse of a very familiar hair pulled behind it.

To confirm his suspicions, a hand drew up and pulled the mask off, revealing Luka's face twisted in laughter. He was doubling over, gripping his stomach and pointed at his completely outraged friend, presumably intending to say something, but every time he'd try, he'd get thrown into another fit.

Gareth didn't let him anyway. ˮYou _maniac_! Are you _fucking crazy?!_ "

„You should've- - you should've seen your face!", Luka had tears streaming down his face while he was taking off the black coat he had over his pajamas. He held the hideous mask in the same hand as those damn _scissors_.

Gareth was just about to accuse him of it, but paused. ˮWait. That-" he pointed a finger that was still shaking a little, ˮthat coat. It's... it's Casemiro's right?"

Like announced, the light in the hallway turned on, and Casemiro stumbled into the room grinning from ear to ear and asked Luka something in Spanish that suspiciously sounded like ˮDid it work?". Then the dumb asses actually high-fived and hugged while Gareth sat there with covers up to his shoulders like a guilty prostitute, even as he had a shirt on, red with embarrassment and anger in equal quantity.

„What is going on?" Marcelo appeared in the doorway with Isco and Asensio peering around him. There was Lucas as well, but then Sergio came and started to speak so quickly that Gareth couldn't catch anything, but based on the look on his face he certainly didn't talk about his dream of sunshine and rainbows. He was gesturing with his arms, not unlike a passionate preacher and eventually ushered everyone back to their rooms.

Luka patted Case on the chest, saying he'll tell him everything in the morning and Case took off with his stuff, scissors as well. Before he left he called Gareth's name one last time and wiggled his fingers threateningly while making creepy noises. Gareth dismissed him off with a finger.

Luka stood there and chuckled some more, looking even smaller in his pj-s, but when he looked over, Gareth had his arms crossed and was looking the other way and it made him grin even wider.

„I don't get it", he grumbled. ˮYou promised."

Modrić giggled again. ˮI believe I said that I had no sinister intentions with _you_ , not your hair."

„That doesn't—it's still not- -" Gareth had trouble searching for words before finally looking at the Croatian directly. ˮI had a heart attack back there, man. Definitely not cool."

At this, Luka sighed in genuine defeat. He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting his friend's back. ˮYeah. Not cool, I admit. I'm sorry, Gareth, I really am. It was a ruthless, tasteless joke. Look I won't try anything like that again, alright? We just saw the opportunity for a small prank. Alright, alright, apocalyptic prank", he hurried to say when Bale stabbed him with a piercing gaze. ˮBut I promise I won't do it again. Honest."

Gareth stared, shook his head barely noticeably on the light from the hallway and squinted. ˮAll this because you don't like my hair? We'll cut _your_ hair, see how it feels, eh?"

„Nonsense, I would never do anything to your hair. Who's gonna be my hair bro, then? Alright, Marcelo is one of us musketeers, too, but then there wouldn't be the three of us. You can't have two musketeers, now, right? We need your hair, it gives us purpose", Luka felt heavy weight sliding off his chest when Gaz's lip twitched out of control.

He smiled softly, then added the cheesiest line in history. ˮC'mon. We still friends?"

Gareth 'tsk'-ed, looking away again with arms still stoically positioned over his chest.

Knowing how much Gareth disliked open affection, but still having the need to apologize more than with words, Luka playfully grabbed his bun and leaned in to give his cheek a meaningful smooch, long enough before Bale planted his palm across the Croat's face to shove him away. ˮGet away from me. Get out of my room. Don't you dare kiss me ever again, don't you dare hug me, don't come near me, and don't even look at me."

Luka skipped over to the door with chuckles filling the room. However, he paused in the doorway and turned around. ˮGaz?"

„Hm?"

Luka scratched the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly. ˮWhat's this _'Kuri'_ you've been yelling about?"

He was left without answer when he ducked with a squawk after Gareth threw a box of tissues at him. His giggles still resonated around the hallway when Bale was closing the door.

  
  


That evening only Luka knew that he was audio-recording the whole thing. He had Gareth's scream set as a ringtone until it started to get on everybody's nerves.

**Author's Note:**

> This went out of control way earlier because it's already 3 in the morning and I don't even feel tired anymore, but I'm satisfied. And tomorrow's Monday. _El Lunes._


End file.
